Two Drinks
by Tres Mechante
Summary: Two people, two bars, two drinks, one need. Post-ep for "Want".


**Two Drinks  
**By Très Méchante

**Summary:** Two people, two bars, two drinks, one need. Post-ep story for "Want". It's angsty, yet hopeful.

**Spoilers:** "Want" but nothing too blatant. Govern yourself accordingly.

**Disclaimer:** The Law & Order: Criminal Intent universe and its inhabitants are not mine. At least, not yet. Christmas is coming and I've been ever so good this year...

**A/N:** The story picks up the same day as that final interrogation, but before the final scene in Carver's office. **Language warning** (not a lot, but thought I should mention it). This is a bit of a departure for me, but my muse insisted it had to be written this way.

* * *

**Bobby POV**

This drink is lasting way too long. I should be on my third by now, not nursing my first. I watch the liquid move in amber swirls as my glass moves in circles. Maybe if I look deep enough I can see the answer. Answer? Shit, I don't even know the question.

Everything is just spiraling out of control. Suddenly I'm identifying with every perp I meet. Well, the unbalanced ones anyway. It used to be so easy. Just slip into someone's life, their mind, find them and then it's over and I can move on – I can be me again. So when did profiling mean actually becoming someone else? At least that's what it feels like.

Tagman. A shudder runs down my spine.

I scrub my hands over my face, trying to rub away the numbness that's been creeping over me. It's just getting to be too much. That's got to be it. I work too hard. I've got no outlet for all that energy anymore...well, except more work. I'm lonely. That's the bottom line. I saw myself in Tagman. Hell, I could _be_ him. A monster. A lonely monster. A desperate monster.

Looking around the bar – anything to avoid looking at myself – my gaze pauses on a lovely woman. She's tall, curved in all the right places, and she is definitely interested. I know that smile, that look. And I think about it. Hell, yeah, I'm interested. Just not...her. Not now.

I shoot her a regretful smile, shaking my head slightly, and look away. It wouldn't be the first time I've had short-term company, ease the loneliness for a few hours, sometimes even a few days. I can pretend I'm not alone, but I always end up that way. When was the last serious relationship? Denise? Gina? They never last. Sooner or later – usually sooner – they see the darkness in me and can't get away fast enough. Every woman in my life leaves.

Well, except her. Eames knows about the darkness – seen it up close and personal – and she doesn't seem to be scared by it. I grin at that. Nope, she's not scared. Usually she's just pissed at it. But she never runs. She stands and fights and in the end, she supports me, even when she reams me out. Huh. Go figure. Smart woman like her and she sticks by me.

I grimace as I sip my now watered-down drink, but done' really think much about the taste. My thoughts are totally taken up with the puzzle that is my partner. Thinking back over our partnership, I am amazed that she has always stuck by me. She doesn't always agree with me, but she backs me no matter what. And even when she disagrees, it's about the case, or the method or the evidence, but never about me as a person. Although she'll kick my ass all over the squad room if that's what it takes to get my attention.

My thoughts are chasing each other faster and faster. I'm not even making sense to myself anymore. Lately I seem to be getting sucked into the cases and losing myself in the process. But Eames...Eames seems to know who I am. And she stays. She doesn't agree, but she doesn't abandon me either. I can't get over that. Why hasn't she requested a transfer by now? She could have her pick of assignments...

I'm torn from that thought by the redhead I noticed earlier. She's come over to me, flashing all the signals that she's available and still interested. "I appreciate the offer," I tell her. "I'd just rather be alone right now." She pouts but moves off.

I'd rather be alone? Not really, but she wasn't the answer. Not tonight. I want someone to talk to, to talk _with_ or simply be with. I don't just want a bed warmer, I want –

Wow. That's out of nowhere. I want Eames. I want my partner. Not a toy, a partner. I let that thought slide through me, warm me. Finally I'm goaded into action – I think I owe someone an apology or an explanation or something and there's no time like the present. Before I think about it some more.

Throwing a few bucks on the bar and nodding to the bartender I head out. And I pray to God that I'm not making a mistake. I don't think I can handle anymore rejection. I'm definitely standing on the edge and I hope she's strong enough to pull me back before I fall. Because if I do fall, I'm afraid I may take her with me.

--- --- ---

**Alex POV**

What a jerk. I should've just gone home. What is it about a woman in a bar – alone – that makes men think she's a piece of property up for grabs? Emphasis on the word grabs. I'm barley halfway through my first drink – which at this rate will be my only drink – and already three guys have hit on me. Jesus, guys, get a life already. Just leave me the hell alone.

Alone. Damn, that brings me right back to what brought me here in the first place. What the hell was that about? I don't get how he could identify so strongly with that freak. He was all gung-ho to nail the bastard, then suddenly John Tagman was like his alter ego or something.

Still, he's my partner. Most of the time. Sometimes I feel more like a witness to a car wreck. I take a gulp of my drink and slam the glass down a little harder than intended. I lick the back of my hand where the booze sloshed out.

Gotta admit, sometimes he scares me. Not that I'm afraid of him, it's just that I worry about him. I get concerned when he gets so deep into someone's head he seems to have trouble finding his way back out again. This last case really seemed to rattle Bobby. Hell, it rattled me. I think he honestly saw himself in that creep. I just don't get it. They're nothing alike. Bobby has all the company he could want. I can't be sure, but I think he's dated every available female under the age of 50 at One Police Plaza. Well, except me, of course. He's never once hit on me. I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted...Get a grip Eames, I chide myself, scrambling for safer thoughts.

Still, none of his relationships seem to last. True, he stays on good terms with most of his ex-girlfriend, but why does he keep breaking off with them? Huh. I'm assuming he's the one who ends things. God knows he can be difficult. Totally charming, but a handful just the same. Anyone involved with him would have to have a helluva lot of staying power. Patience would help. And definitely enough backbone to rip him a new one when required. I grimace at that. I seem to be doing that a lot lately – ripping him a new one, I mean.

Maybe he really is lonely. That can screw with your perspective big time. I force away memories of my own loneliness when my husband died. I wouldn't wish that on anyone and it bothers me that Bobby may well be feeling that...isolation, detachment. Yeah, that's the word. Detachment – and numbness. They make great insulators for the short haul, but they just eat away at the soul until there's nothing left. Is that it? Is Bobby just disappearing?

Okay. I'm officially starting to freak. I reach for my cell and hit speed dial, but hang up before the call connects. Jesus Alex, what do you think you're doing? What would I say?

I gulp my drink as a scenario runs through my head. "Hey, Bobby. I was feeling kinda lonesome and it occurred to me you might be in need of some company, too. It's come to my attention you've been out with every available female in the building, except me. What is that? Don't you wanna take _me_ out for a test drive?" Scotch erupts from my nose as the thought finishes playing in my head. Coughing, I wipe my face and mop up the mess.

Time to go. One drink is clearly one too many tonight. I'll talk to Bobby tomorrow, maybe take him out for lunch. Italian always makes him chatty for some reason. I can try to figure out what's gong on with him then.

I'll back him no matter what, but I won't do it blindly. He's gong to have to talk to me sooner or later – and I'd rather it be sooner. Grabbing my jacket, I not to Mike behind the bar and head out.

It doesn't take me long to walk home. I pull open the door to my building and start up the stairs, more interested in sorting through my mail than in my surroundings. It was only at the last moment I noticed the body crouched at the top of the stairs. I'm reaching for my gun when I suddenly recognize the body in question.

"Bobby?"

He grins a bit uncertainly but doesn't stand up, so I crouch beside him on the landing.

"You weren't...home and I was trying to-to decide what to do." He had his cell out and was turning it over in his hands. "I, uh, I hope you don't mind me dropping by."

"Great minds think alike. I was just thinking about you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I study him more closely. He looks rough. When was the last time he had a decent night's sleep? "So, what's up?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" I tilt my head and quirk my eyebrow at him, challenging him. "Except..."

He chuffs out a laugh. He knows that I know him. Well, as much as anyone can, I suppose. He shakes his head. "I don't really know where to begin."

Suddenly he shifts and pockets the phone. "I shouldn't have come, sorry..."

I grab his arm to stop him. "We need to talk, Bobby." He refuses to meet my eyes. "Like I've told you before, Bobby, I'm good for the ride. But you have to let me know where we're going. I'll back you, but I want – I _have_ to know what I'm getting into. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

"It could be, sometimes," Bobby admitted, drawing in a shuddering breath. He sounds like a little boy – a lost little boy.

I just smile and squeeze his arm in understanding.

Bobby stands up. "I should go, you know..." His voice trails off uncertainly.

I can't let him leave. Not like this. "How about a coffee? We don't have to have 'the talk' or anything. We could just watch a little TV or something...just hang out." I hold his gaze, willing him to accept, to let me reach out to him if he can't do the reaching out for himself.

"I'd like that," he said, and I breathe a sigh of relief. For the first time in a long time I'm About us. We haven't actually solved anything and I still don't really know what's going on inside that head of his, but this...this is good.

I close the door quietly. It's a small step forward, but I'll take it.

**— FIN —**


End file.
